


Just Say Something

by rosehathaway



Category: Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erin pays a visit, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Relationship(s), Post Jay's dad dying, Sharing a Bed, based on a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehathaway/pseuds/rosehathaway
Summary: Jay gets a visit from the last person he would have expected.





	Just Say Something

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt: "Hey, prompt anon again. I no longer watch the show but recently came across a spoiler that said that Jay’s dad died (something to do with a fire). And I kinda start thinking about what Erin’s reaction would be to that? So I guess that the ideia would be Erin finding out and showing up at the funeral? Very sad and heart breaking conversation to follow? I don’t even know 😅 But please do not feel obligated to write this! If you do, great but if you don’t, it’s still totally fine! Thank you!“
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta Sarah!! I love her heaps!
> 
> Vaguely inspired by Just Say by Extreme Music.

Her footsteps echo on an unfamiliar staircase. Despite all the hours she dedicates to running and the time she spends at the gym, she feels short of breath. Her heart is pounding like she just ran a marathon, and tears that she has to forcibly stop from spilling down her cheeks prickle her eyes. Anxiety spreads over her like a virus, consuming her whole, one step at a time.

Until she is standing there, wishing for a moment that she never made this trip. That she never found out, or that she chickened out when she still had a chance. Well, maybe it’s not too late to turn back. She can spin this trip as an excuse to visit some friends—she knows Annie wouldn’t mind a visit. But no—before she can stop herself, she knocks on the door with the last confidence she can muster.

It doesn’t take long before she hears the footsteps that are so achingly familiar, she feels it’s the sound she could spend the rest of her life listening to. But she doesn’t have that right anymore—that privilege.

His face turns to stone when he sees her. Then it floods with shock and a quick flash of anger to complete it. She understands. She really doesn’t know what she’s doing here.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, somehow voicing his thoughts and hers.

She thinks of making a joke—the _I was in the neighbourhood—_ kind of joke, but she owes him more than that. Or maybe they owe each other. “I heard about your dad. I wanted to—” that sounds wrong in her mind for some reason so she reverts, “I _had_ to tell you how sorry I am. I know your relationship with him was less than stellar, but he was your dad. I’m really sorry you lost him.”

A brief memory flashes over her—a cold Chicago night, not so unlike this one—the night when she cried for the loss of a father she never had. The night she broke in his arms, confessing she wasn’t angry at him for doing the bloody DNA test—she was angry at herself for believing once more that her family was anything but messed up.

Maybe her father didn’t die at the time, but she mourned him, and she knows how he’s feeling.

“Thank you,” he replies politely, his eyes staring back at her with so many questions. The answers to which she doesn’t have, or at the very least doesn’t think he’d enjoy. “If that’s all then?” He leaves the question hanging in the air, and she takes the hint, shaking her head with dismissal. She would rather have him say he hates her than regard her with this cold indifference. They do say hate is not the opposite of love.

“Yeah, I should get going anyway,” she tells him, even though she came to this fucked up city to see him, and nobody else. She wanted to see with her own eyes that he was okay—that he wasn’t coping with this in an unhealthy manner. “It was good seeing you, Jay.”

His name on her lips leaves her with an overwhelming need to weep. To curl into a ball of misery and weep for everything they had—and lost.

“You too.”

He shuts the door, and she looks at the grey painted wood for a little longer, before feeling her heart fall. Defeated, she turns around and tries to let go.

* * *

His phone lands on the floor with a loud thud. It’s a relatively new phone—he should care about breaking it, but he just can’t be bothered. In fact, if anyone calls him again to check up on him, he might break the damn thing himself.

He glances at the bottle of scotch on his coffee table. It’s missing a finger or so, but he can’t bring himself to drink more. To drown his sorrows. There is a silent voice in his head, telling him that’s not a healthy way to deal with his grief.

He stretches on the couch, trying to find a channel with something to watch. _Anything_ to numb out the sound in his head—the sound of his own voice, calling his dad a thankless old prick. Anything to erase the image of putting his father in the ground—of looking over at Will, sharing a look, realizing that they are now all that’s left of their family.

The thing about grief is it’s not as if he can’t deal with loss. It’s that this one loss brings up all the losses he never properly mourned. And that might be a flood his improvised emotional dam isn’t capable of holding back.

People check in with him, of course, but he doesn’t really know what to tell them. Maybe for the first time, he finally knows how Erin felt after Nadia was killed. The guilt, the pain, the grief—it eats at you slowly until there is nothing left, and even if he wanted to reach out, he doesn’t know how to put this into words.

As soon as he gets comfortable, the doorbell snaps him out of it, and he pads to the door, sure that it’s either Will or Hailey, because nobody else comes to his place lately.

He doesn’t even check, he just swings the door open. He can feel his heart falling as if it’s a body flying down from a hundred story building. It just keeps falling and falling, and he keeps blinking as if one time he’ll open his eyes and she won’t be there, and he will realize it was all an illusion.

“What are you doing here?” He finally manages, since it’s the one and only question going through his mind. _Why is she here? Why now? Why out of nowhere?_

She seems to be pondering the best answer to that, starting with a sad attempt at a smile. He knows it’s a sad attempt because he has seen her smile—he has made her smile more times that he can count. And somehow, he always took it for granted.

He hopes it doesn’t sound too angry, because really, he has no right to be angry at her. But lately, he’s been feeling all sorts of angry. Angry at himself—at the world even.

“I heard about your dad. I wanted to—” she pauses, and he crosses his arms impatiently. “I _had_ to tell you how sorry I am. I know your relationship with him was less than stellar, but he was your dad. I’m really sorry you lost him.”

Her eyes are looking at him as if maybe she wants to save him, and for a moment, he feels like maybe he wants to be saved. Like maybe he needs to be saved, because that’s the only way he’ll make it out of this alive. But the feeling passes, and he tries to burn the image of her standing there into his mind—because maybe this is the last time, and the thing that most bothered him all these months, was that the last time, he didn’t know it was the _last_ time.

“Thank you,” is all he can think of. He wants to ask her how she is—how New York is, how the new job is, but he remembers the cracking voice on the other side of phone.

_I can’t do this anymore. It’s too painful._

He doesn’t want her to hurt because of him. He almost reaches out and strokes her cheek, just like he used to do when she was sad, but he stops himself in time. “If that’s all then?” He leaves the question hanging in the air, leaving it rude on purpose, because it’s easier than to fall back in sync only to have it taken away.

“Yeah, I should get going anyway,” she tells him, obviously lying. He wonders if she really did come all the way from New York to check up on him, or if she was simply in the city and decided to drop by. “It was good seeing you, Jay.”

He nods, and pushes the door shut, feeling like he’s making the biggest mistake of his life.

This time, he takes advantage of the peep hole on his door, sneaking a glance of her. She stares at his door for a while—as if she’s willing them to open back—before turning around and leaving.

He waits three beats of his heart, to give himself an out, before opening the door again. “Do you maybe want a drink?”

“Sounds good,” she tells him, and he tries not to hope.

He fails.

* * *

She doesn’t realize that it’s hours later as she sits on the floor of Jay’s new place, stuffing her mouth with pizza. He’s propped against the couch, doing the same, and she hates her heart for doing that tugging thing.

“Thankless old prick. I called him that. That’s the last thing I said to him. I wonder if I’ll ever forget that.”

“I know where you live.” He looks at her like she’s nuts, so she explains. “I know where you live. That’s the last thing I said to Nadia. I knew she was planning me a party, and I was so pissed off about it—I hate surprises. And if she hadn’t gone out to get my birthday cake, she’d still be here. I don’t think you’ll ever forget it. But hopefully you’ll forgive. Him and yourself. The simple fact of life is that people get mad. They say things they don’t mean. But just because it’s the last thing you ever said to him, doesn’t take back all the times you were there for him.”

He thinks for a second that she might be talking about them. _Just because I left without saying goodbye, doesn’t mean I didn’t love you._ He hopes that she knows he knows that. That he knows it was never a question of whether she loved him.

“I miss him. I even miss him being cranky.”

“I know,” her fingers wrap around his, because that’s the only way she can think of to comfort him, that doesn’t involve their lips. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, instead lacing their fingers together, just like they used to.

“I feel like people keep dying around me. Like people keep leaving.”

She doesn’t have an answer to that—as much as she wants to. All she knows is that one reasons she left Chicago was that she felt that she would drag Jay with her somehow. And she couldn’t allow that.

“Al called sometimes. He’d fill me in on all of you guys. I really miss him.”

“I didn’t see you at the funeral,” he replies, sounding quite surprised. She can’t say she blames him. She hasn’t been the best at keeping in touch, but she is starting to think now, that maybe Hank’s advice wasn’t as solid as she thought.

“I was at the back. I didn’t want to see anyone. I wasn’t ready.

He wants to ask, _what’s different now? Why is she ready now?_ But he removes his hand and grabs another slice of pizza, because maybe he doesn’t even want the answer.

* * *

“I should go, it’s getting really late.”

“Or you could stay,” he offers, clearly not in control of his brain.

“Are you sure?” She asks, giving him an out, but he nods. The yawn she gives him is enough to hop on his feet and show her to the bedroom. For some reason it doesn’t feel weird when they climb into bed, fully dressed, facing each other. Their bodies aren’t touching, but it’s the most intimate they’ve been in a long time.

“I know I didn’t handle things very well,” she admits, “but Jay, there is something good about leaving this city. Leave behind all the bad memories and pain. Don’t you ever wonder what’s keeping you here? You literally have a job you can do from anywhere in country.”

“It’s home. Chicago has always been home.”

“I used to think so too. But maybe home is anywhere you make it.”

“So are you saying New York doesn’t have any bad memories?”

“I’m not in New York anymore. Look all I’m saying is that if you ever feel like this city is suffocating you, then maybe starting over wouldn’t be the worst thing. I know a guy at Arlington PD, and they’re hiring.”

He doesn’t reply—not directly. “Sometimes I imagine what it would be like. You and me, somewhere nobody knows us.”

“Yeah,” she exhales. “Me too.”

“It was good what we had, right? It wasn’t perfect, I know, and I screwed it up, but it was good?”

She thinks back to the walks they took hand in hand. The nights they spent making love to each other or annihilating each other. The mornings when she woke up in his arms feeling so content, she thought her heart was going to burst. The weekends they sneaked away to Jay’s cabin in Wisconsin to be away from the world together.

“Yeah,” she replies without a single doubt in her mind. “It was good.”

She leans forward, giving him enough time to pull back, but he doesn’t. Their lips touch, ever so slightly.

“What was that for?”

“I couldn’t remember our last kiss,” she murmurs with tears in her eyes. “I can’t remember. It would have been that morning before I asked you about Abby, but I can’t remember if I kissed you or not. Maybe I just said _see you at work._ I wanted to remember our last kiss.”

Does it have to be our last, he wonders, but doesn’t say it out loud, because his expectations would surely shatter this illusion.

“It was the night before. We were both so tired, we fell into bed. You were cold, so you snuggled into my arms, giving me a soft kiss. I kissed your forehead, and you murmured you loved me before falling asleep.”

He knows, because he had spent days and weeks remembering that particular moment. When everything was still okay, when nothing was falling apart.

“Thank you.” It’s the last thing she says, before falling asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up in the morning, she’s gone. The only proof she was even there is the lingering scent of her perfume in the air, the indentation on the pillow where her head rested, and a card with a name and number of that Arlington PD detective she mentioned.

Other than that, it’s like she was never there. If it wasn’t for the card, Jay would even be inclined to believe that maybe he made the whole thing up. His memory of her is so vivid, he’s certain his brain could conjure up a dream or something of the sorts. But no. It was no dream.

After a long time, he doesn’t feel like his world is about to crash and burn.

So he knows she was there. Because once again, she saved him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you consider the fact that Erin is no longer working in New York, but she does still work for the FBI, it is worth noting that Arlington is just a 42 minutes drive away from Quantico. Just saying. Do with that whatever you will.


End file.
